Ben & May's
by RebelzHeart
Summary: They open the cafe shortly after Ben's death. A coffeeshop AU that's not a romance. (Homecoming-verse)
1. Chapter 1

They open it shortly after Ben's death.

They'd been planning this for a long time... her and Ben, and eventually, Peter, too. It'd been a lifetime dream, but with May working night shifts and Peter too young to work, it had just never been able to quite work properly.

Then Ben died, and Peter found May crying over notebooks full of plans and notes from her business class and he decided _no_.

"Let's open the cafe," He said, smoothing the hair back from her face and gently leading her to the kitchen. "Ben and May's. We'll have all kinds of sweets and drinks and we'll get that spiffy new coffee machine that you always wanted. We'll use Uncle Ben's life insurance and then you can spend your days in the bakery and I'll man the counter and we can live in a little room behind the shop, just like we always wanted, yeah?"

May stared at the envelope of money on the counter, and Peter's mind flashed to when she shouted, _"I'll never use that money!"_ at the funeral.

He half expected her to scream, to get angry with him for taking advantage of his death like that, but Peter just wanted May to smile again, and he remembered that she had always laughed whenever they brought up the cafe, so this was his last ditch attempt.

(He couldn't lose his aunt too, not so soon.)

To his relief, a small, hesitant smile graced her lips. "Yeah." She agreed softly, curving her fingers over Peter's. "I'd like that."

And suddenly the broken, grieving woman from the past month was gone, replaced by the Aunt May from before, the one that was bold and strong and beautiful.

(A bit sadder and wiser and older but still _May_ , still completely, now, _May_ , instead of the woman who sobbed on the mess and tried so hard to help Peter when she herself was so obviously falling apart.)

They scoured New York for a place to buy, saved up (Peter found a job as a newspaper boy and used all the money for their cafe savings) and eventually, they got there.

 _Ben and May's_ opened a few weeks later, and by then they had long since taken care of legalities with a lawyer and May had agreed that while her cooking and baking was fantastic, there were some recipes that would never taste good.

Then, _bam_ , it was a go.

Peter worked the counter and May worked the kitchen.

They lived in a comfy little room in the bed that had a couch and fairy lights and a nice bunk bed with bookshelves and lots of pillows.

It was like a dream, except the wonder didn't really end.

(Except, of course, nights where they were dead tired and didn't want to work but had to and ended up drinking ten gallons of coffee to stay awake. But even that was pretty fine.)


	2. Steve

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* * *

It's a cute little shop on the corner of Bay Street, with swooping cursive _Ben and May's_ over the door and an old fashioned red and white striped piece of cloth hanging under the sign, casting a shadow on the folded little blackboard listing all the specials of the day.

Neat, golden little writing paints a neat little sign on the window, and wide glass panes show the cozy inside.

Chestnut floorboards and wooden tables with wooden little chairs that have bright and unique little throw pillows on every seat. Little booths with dark brown wood and muted red backs lining the walls, and cute little posters with pictures of some of their food painted on it, signed with _Michelle Jones_ in a little corner near the bottom.

Steve can't help but fall in love as soon as he steps in and the little bell over the door tinkles welcomingly.

"Good morning," the barista chirps cheerfully, a short teenager with soft brown hair and a bright smile. "What can I get for you today?"

Steve stares at the blackboard behind the counter, and he scans through all the colorful options. "...What do you recommend?" He finally asks when he realizes that he and his indecisiveness will probably never be able to choose just one.

"Well, it depends," The barista hums thoughtfully and taps a finger against his chin. "What do you like? Do you want something to wake you up? Something sweet? Something exotic?"

Steve stares at his feet uncertainly. "Just something that will get rid of thirst." He sighs and pulls at his ear. "Why don't you surprise me?"

The barista cocks his head to the side, obviously surprised, but then he just kind of laughs and says, "You know, I could just recommend the most expensive drink on the menu and squeeze some money out of you."

"But you wouldn't." Steve replies confidently, and the barista merely raises his eyebrows doubtfully.

"Alright," The barista sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "Any allergies?"

"No." Steve shakes his head and pulls out his wallet.

"The cheapest thing on the menu is Coke." The barista informs Steve, "But one of our fan favorites is the Blueberry Ice Cappuccino."

"I'll take that, then." Steve says, deciding to abandon all doubt. "How much?"

The barista gives him the price and rings up the order. "Alright, let me just..." He catches the slight of the time and groans. "Oh, no, I'm going to be late for school... Aunt May! I'm going to school, now! Blond guy up front... sorry, what's your name?"

"Steve." Steve answers politely.

"Awesome, thanks. AUNT MAY, BLOND GUY CALLED STEVE WANTS A BLUEBERRY ICE CAPPUCCINO!"

"GOT IT!" A voice from the back yells back, presumably Aunt May. "GET GOING, PETER!"

"LOVE YOU, BYE!"

And the barista offers Steve a quick apology before skidding out the door, backpack in hand as he practically flies away.

Steve is still staring at him, dumbfounded, when a pretty Italian woman comes up and nudges him gently. "One Blueberry Ice Cappuccino for Steve?" She asks, voice filled with amusement.

"Ah, yes." Steve coughs awkwardly and accepts the drink. "Um, your barista..."

"Peter." She agrees, and offers him a slight smile. "I keep telling him that he can't work before school starts, but he insists, and it does take a lot off my shoulders."

"Ah." Steve takes a sip and blinks at the taste. "This is really good." He notes, and takes another sip. "Is it healthy?"

"It has a fruit in it." May laughs and shrugs. "But we have plenty of healthy options for when you drop by again."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think that I'll drop by again?"

May mimicks his gesture and points at the drink in his hand. "You're halfway through and we've barely said two sentences to each other. It's good, right?"

Steve turns bright red and focuses on his drink. "Yeah." He admits. "It is pretty good. And it's close to my jogging route, too."

"Well, there you go." May replies brightly, and starts walking back to the cashier. "See you later, Steve the Jogger!"

And, Steve has to admit, she probably will.


	3. Matt & Foggy

**Reply to Guest:** *deep voice* This is the beginning of everything. Thank you so much! Well, probably all the Avengers, but honestly, probably everyone. Like everyone. I mean, I even snuck Daredevil in right now.

* * *

Matt and Foggy are inseparable, though sometimes Karen will tag along.

When they first come in, Matt tapping the floor and Foggy gaping around the shop as he excitedly describes the colors and the sights to Matt, Peter is instantly sure that they'll be regulars.

They are, too, apparently, because Foggy immediately exclaims, "We're gonna be regulars!", claps his hands together, and that's it.

"You haven't even tasted our products yet." Peter points out, raising an eyebrow and unable to hold back a small smile.

Foggy waves a hand dismissively. "Details, details." He replies, and Matt laughs at the two of them.

"They smell fantastic," Matt pointed out brightly, "So I'm sure they must taste fine."

"There is something very, very flawed against that logic." Peter mused, squinting at Matt. "Do you follow it all the time?"

"Never." Matt answered, sounding shocked. "Everything I eat is something that Foggy's forcing me to try out."

Foggy elbowed Matt. "Aw, come on." He whined. "You know you love me."

Matt patted Foggy's head comfortingly. "You keep telling yourself that." He answered gravely, ignoring Foggy's frustrated groan. Matt turned back to Peter with a pleasant smile and asked politely, "Is there anything that you would recommend?"

Peter's eyes flickered to Foggy for a moment before he asked, "What type of drinks or sweets do you like?"

The edges of Matt's eyes crinkled and he answered lightly, "Surprise me."

"Matt," Foggy rolled his eyes and placed both hands upon his hips. "You couldn't get surprised if you were attacked by Russian ninja mafioso."

" _One time,_ Foggy."

" _Russian ninja mafioso,_ Matt."

" _One time_."

"Ninja? That's _so cool!_ "

"Look, now the kid actually believes you!"

" _Ninjas._ "

"Um, so do you still want a surprise order?"

"Yes, please."

"Matt. We are talking about this."

"I have avoided this for more than a month and I will not stop now."

"Do you have any allergies, sir?"

"No allergies, and no need to call me sir, I'm Matt. Nice to meet you..."

"Peter. Alright, how about a Strawberry Cheesecake Latte?"

"Sounds perfect, how much?"

"You are not seriously ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you, I'm ordering. Which you should do, too."

"Talk to me about the ninjas."

Cue the moment where Peter realizes that he should be whipping up a Strawberry Cheesecake Latte but is honestly too curious about learning about these Russian Ninja Mafioso to go and do his job.

(Oh well. He's sure they won't mind. They seem a little caught up in their argument anyways, so it's not like he's bothering them.)

"Foggy."

" _Matt_."

"No, I... aw, come on, _don't_ start... I swear, those are crocodile tears, those are _fake_..."

" _Maaaatt..."_

Silence.

Stare.

Glare.

Scowl.

"I thought," Fake sniff. Fake tears. _So fake_. Matt knows. "I thought that we agreed to be honest. I thought I was your best friend. I thought..."

"Fine!" Matt crossed his arms over his chest sulkily as he muttered, "You're paying."

The tears instantly stopped as Foggy offered Matt a sweet smile and held up both his hands. "As long as you explain yourself, that's all I ask. Really, Matt, what is a relationship without honesty and truth?"

"An ideal relationship."

"Matt, you hurt me."

"Are you two... dating?" Having left sometime a little near Foggy's crocodile tears, Peter returned with Matt's latte and peered curiously at the two of them.

" _What?_ No!"

"What part of us looks like we're dating?"

"You're not seriously curious about this."

"Well..."

Another latte and a slightly (cue: very) intimidating talk (read: lecture) about how Matt and Foggy were most definitely not dating, they had left the shop with their lattes, happy and warm and due to get cavities any moment.

"So," Foggy asked, blowing lightly on the surface of his drink as they stepped into their office, only a moment's walk away. "When are we going back?"

"Now." Karen interrupted them to pluck Foggy's cup from his hands and take a light sip. "I can't believe the nerve of you two, not getting one for me. Mm... hey, this is pretty good. Where'd you get it?"

Foggy turned to grin at Matt. "Looks like we found our regular coffee shop."

"Yeah," Matt cleared his throat. "Looks like you'll be going back sooner than you thought, too."

"Aw, come on, can't you go get..."

"I'm _blind_."

"Foggy, you can't raise a middle finger at Matt, he can't see it, and it's _rude_."

"I'll tell you what's rude. _That_."

"I'm not a that." Matt responded mildly. "I'm at least a _this_."

Needless to say, ten minutes later, Foggy returned to _Ben & May's _for a latte.

He wasn't scared of Karen.

Nope.

Not at all.

(He did, however, fall in love with the little coffee shop with the chestnut floor and the bell above the door.)

(And okay. Fine. Maybe he was a little afraid of Karen. Fine. More than a little. _Alright!_ Fine! He was absolutely terrified and not ashamed.)

(Why, you ask?)

(Because Matt was literally the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, and he was also absolutely terrified.)

(Point being, lattes. Ben and May's. Good stuff.)


	4. A Touch of Tony

**Reply to D(Guest):** Thanks!  
 **Reply to Guest:** Thanks! Lighthearted... right... *nervous laughter* Sorry, looks like this turned a bit darker.

* * *

Sometimes Steve gets in this mood, and Tony doesn't really know what to do about it.

He goes all quiet and he gets this pensive look and he looks like a kicked puppy dog.

Actually, that sounds like what Steve looks like most of the time.

Except this is different.

This is a weird mood where, most of the time, when he gets in this kind of mood, he just sort of shuts down. He'll shut himself in his room, sit on his bed and just stare at his hands for hours upon hours, as though he doesn't quite know what to do with them.

Normal Steve quiet is different. Normal Steve would sit in Tony's workshop, content to listen to him babble on and on for hours as he quietly sketches out whatever he feels like doing for the day. He would sit next to Bucky, carding his fingers through Bucky's hair, both of them content to just be in each other's presence. He spars with Natasha, the sounds of the blows flying and flesh upon flesh more than enough for him, readily working without speaking.

This Steve vanishes without trace, locks himself in his room and stares at his hand, this Steve leaves the tower and comes back empty handed, this Steve, even Bucky cannot trace.

So it's a bit worrisome when he starts disappearing.

Which Tony is totally okay with. He gets it. There are some times where you just can't be around other people... times where you have to go and be by yourself for a while. And that's okay.

But at the same time, Tony remembers disappearing into his workshop for hours upon end, shutting himself in and refusing to let anyone else breath in the same room as he worked tirelessly and thought _nobody will care if I die_.

And Steve's not like that. He knows that Steve's not like that.

But all the same, Tony worries.

So he picks a day (a random day, honestly, where he has free time and Steve just so happens to be in this mood) where he just so happens to be okay with it, and he bounces up to Steve and links their arms together.

"Hey, Capsicle." Tony bares his teeth into a smile and bats his eyelashes at Steve. "Where are you going?"

Steve peers at him in surprise. Tony's not usually the instigator in their conversations, preferring to wait until Steve feels comfortable, and then he lets Steve come to him in his own time.

"Just to get some coffee," Steve answers with a light shrug, which Tony would believe, really, if it weren't for the fact that he's carrying his sketchbook and one of his stealthier weapons in his backpack.

"Coffee with your weapons." Tony cocks an eyebrow. "Sounds legit."

Steve turns bright red, and then he stares at Tony with a look that's almost shy before he admits, "I want to show Peter."

"Peter." Tony echoes, mind whirling before he gasps, stunned, "Wait, I thought that you and Bucky had a thing going on! Who's this Peter dude? _Bucky's_ the one for you, _Bucky_ , not whoever this Peter dude is!"

Steve practically chokes on his breath as he backpedals away from Tony and flushes, hands wildly waving in front of his face as he gasps, " _No_ , I don't... that's not... _No_ , Tony!"

Tony is suspicious, and makes a face that says so, all squinty eyes and scrunched up noses as he channels his inner Natasha. "Good. Because we've got a betting pool for when you and Bucky decide to..."

" _What?_ "

"Look, if you could do it after like, a year or so, that'd be awesome, because I've got a lot of money..."

" _No_ , Tony."

"Look, it's not.."

" _Tony_."

"Fine. Look, I'll let you and Bucky in if you..."

"I'm leaving."

"Wait for me!"

"No, I'm not..."

"So, if you're not crushing, who _is_ this Peter guy?"

"He's the _barista_ , Tony, he's not this..."

"You're crushing on a hot _barista_!? Dude, that's..."

" _No, Tony! I'm not crushing on anyone!"_

"Yeah, right."

Pft. Like he's gonna believe _that_.

* * *

Tony takes one look at Peter and instantly understands.

"Oh." He mutters, slightly disappointed that he wasn't able to get into some drama, but relieved that Steve and Bucky aren't going to have any weird relationship drama going on because of a hot barista.

Not that Peter's not hot. Well. Actually. He isn't. He's cute, though. Because, well.

"He's a _shrimp_. He's not even legal. To think that I thought that..."

"Yeah." Steve cuts him off with a flat glare. "We are going to stop talking about this right now."

Tony agrees readily. Not that he's embarrassed or anything. But if the minor hears them, then he might. Well.

"Steve!" The barista Peter instantly brightens when he catches sight of Steve, and waves them over. "Whoa, you're dating Iron Man? Man, and here I was thinking that you had a thing going on with the Winter Soldier." He frowns slightly, and digs into his pocket for cash. "Man, I had a bet going on with Aunt May and everything..."

"See?" Tony crows triumphantly, clapping his hands together and pointing at Steve. "I _told_ you that you were perfect together!"

" _Tony_." Steve sounds as though he's trying to use his no nonsense Captain voice, but is a bit too embarrassed to and ends up sounding like a dying frog instead. It's hilarious. "I'm _not_ going to be dating anyone right now."

"Tosh." Tony answers with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Aw, man." Barista Peter sighs, tucking his chin into his hands, before he brightens and exclaims, "Wait, _whoa_ , I'm about to serve coffee to _Iron Man_!"

"Yes you are, kid." Tony knows exactly how to play this as he cockily tips his chin forwards and lowers hi sunglasses. "You'd better revel in my glorious presence while I'm still here."

"I am." Peter replies very seriously. "I have been since I saw your face."

Which is... a little disturbing when he says it like that. But whatever, he's a fan, so it's cool.

Peter takes in Tony for a full on minute, just gaping and basking in his presence before he smacks himself and turns to Steve. "Your usual, then?"

"Yes, that'd be lovely." Steve smiles softly, and Tony suspects that he would be amused if it weren't for the jealous expression on his features. "I brought it today, too."

Peter's face lights up even more, full on like a _billboard_ or something, and he claps his hands together like a kid on Christmas. Then he pauses, clears his throat, and turns to Tony. "And what would you like to order?" He asks, trying to be serious but much too excited to be.

Tony wonders what it would take to make the kid's face light up like that for _him_. "I'll take the same as Capsicle." He says, and watches as the edges of Peter's lips twitch up at the nickname.

"No allergies?" Peter guesses, and Tony nods in affirmation.

It's not long before they both get their orders and, waiting for the afternoon buzz to die down, eventually Peter is handed Steve's weapon and the kid starts _dismantling_ Tony's lovely work of art, excitedly babbling about the way that it's so cleverly designed and admiringly pointing out several features before wondering about the efficiency of this or that.

It's seriously amazing.

"Are you an engineering major?" Tony asks, slightly impressed even as the kid turns bright pink.

"Oh, no, Mr. Stark." He shakes his head, pausing mid babble.

"He's fifteen." Steve informs Tony, pausing to smile at Peter. "Still just in high school."

"But you _could_ be in college." Tony frowns, and pulls his sunglasses off to tuck behind his ears. "You're pretty smart."

Peter smiles at Tony, as though he's a bit nervous (but not nervous because of Tony... no, this is something else, like he's hiding something), before he answers wistfully, "I'm not so smart." And stops talking.

Tony wants to press the kid a bit more, but knows that if he does, the kid might clam up and stop talking to them completely.

So for now, he just enjoys the latte (and here he was thinking that more expensive meant better... nope, turns out that this cheap little shop had the best coffee around) and listens to Peter babble on about something or the other and lets Steve tell stories shyly and Tony allows himself to occasionally interject sarcastic and witty one liners that cause Peter to laugh and Steve to do that little half smile that he does whenever he finds something funny but is trying not to laugh.

So now, whenever Steve starts vanishing, Tony can't help but find himself follow.

(He tries to buy the place but they refuse, so he just settles for tipping with a few hundreds every once in a while.)

(Peter fainted the first time. It was hilarious.)


	5. Enter Michelle

**Reply to Guest:** Oh gosh, no, I'm not that evil. Nobody will die, rest assured. Thank you!

* * *

Michelle isn't quite sure what she said when Peter first approached her to beg her to paint some things for his and his aunt's cafe.

"It'll be good publicity for your budding art career." He said hopefully, batting his eyelashes and giving her The Puppy Dog Look, all wide eyes and full lips and sweet words. "We'll even pay you if you really need it."

Michelle reached out to poke Peter's forehead, raising both eyebrows, utterly unimpressed as she continued to skim over her book, "Really, Peter, you aren't the best at haggling, are you?"

"You're my friend." Peter answered dismissively, leaning forwards to lie on his stomach as he tucked his hands under his chin. "I don't need to haggle, because I know that you won't take advantage of me."

Man, was he naive. "Man, are you stupid." Michelle deadpanned, but couldn't help the little swell of pride in her chest at hearing him say that.

"You know that you love him," Ned answered teasingly, shrinking back when Michelle offered him a small glare. "Aw, come on, you two are all over each other!"

" _Ned!_ " Peter groaned, turning bright red. "It's not like that!"

Ned merely raised an eyebrow and shook his head with a light sigh. "Clueless, the two of you." He said mournfully. "Absolutely clueless."

Michelle had shot him a glare and turned back to Peter. "I'll work for free." She sighed. "But I get free drinks."

"Forever?" Peter asked hesitantly, eyebrows creasing together in worry. "Because I don't think we can afford that."

Michelle held up her pointer finger and leaned back, finally turning away from her book to stare at Peter. "One free drink and one free dessert item for every painting I commission." She proposed, tilting her head back. "I can pick up on this whenever I want, it doesn't have to be immediately."

"I'll talk about it with Aunt May." Peter agreed, bobbing his head into a nod.

Which was to say, Aunt May agreed with a cheerful clap of her hands and declared that Peter's friends would have gotten free snacks even without the deal anyways, so it was honestly a moot point.

And now Michelle was collecting one of her many free treats, chewing thoughtfully on one of their strawberry cookies as she drilled Peter on history. "Also known as Octavian..."

"Augustus Caesar." Bobbing his head into a nod as Tony pulled up to the counter, he tilted his head back and asked, "I thought we were working on American History?"

Michelle examined her nails and twisted her lips to the side. "I decided to add a bit more fun." She answered lightly, the edge of her lip curling up into a crooked smile. "Serves you right for being late to Decathlon practice."

"For the last time, I was _on time_ , you guys were just early!"

"You arrived two minutes after Flash, Peter. _Flash_. That's just shameful."

"That's not fair." Peter stuck out his lower lip into a pout. "We both know that Flash always arrives either first or second, Michelle."

Tony coughed loudly, cutting into their conversation. "As cute as it is to watch you flirt with your girlfriend, kid," He raised his eyebrows, "I'd like to place my order."

"Oh, Mr. Stark...!" Peter turned bright red and his eyes flickered to Michelle. "We're um, we're not,"

"Dating? Hm, maybe not yet, but you will be. I mean, you're already flirting so well..."

" _Not_ flirting..."

"Acting rude to a paying customer..."

"Omigosh, he's even cockier in person." Michelle gaped, pressing both hands to her mouth. "It's like he's this big ball of... of ego trying to hide his insecurities. And I thought that _Flash_ was bad."

Peter groaned, "He's a paying customer, Michelle..."

"Screw that, I'm going to be the best man at your wedding..."

" _Customer_ , Mr. Stark, please don't get involved in my personal life..."

"It's kind of what I do, kid..."

"You're looking in the wrong direction..."

"Says the girl who sassed me..."

"Peter's been crushing on you forever anyways."

"Oh, _really_..."

"No, _no_ , I wasn't!"

"No, you had a crush on one of the Avengers..."

"I had an _interest_ in Bruce Banner but it wasn't a _crush_..."

"You crushed on _Bruce_ but not me, I'm offended..."

"It wasn't a crush, I'm _straight_..."

"Yeah, right..."

Michelle was _so_ glad that she had decided to paint those pictures for Peter and his aunt's cafe.


	6. Bucky

**Reply to Guest:** Haha, but we all know that Ned's gonna be the best man. Thanks!

* * *

Sometimes, Bucky just needs to get away, to figure out who he is.

It's hard to do, when there's all these people around him, all these expectations buzzing around his head and swallowing him up like that story with Jonah and the whale.

He's not supposed to be The Asset anymore, he's not supposed to be the Winter Solider anymore, he knows that, because whenever he talks about being a weapon, that kicked puppy dog look crosses Steve's face, like he might cry, and Bucky knows that he's not The Asset.

He knows, but he doesn't _know_.

Sometimes, he'll walk into a room and he'll put a gun on the table, and everyone will just stare at him, confused, wondering why.

Then Bucky will remember, nobody needs to put him down anymore, there's no reason for anybody to anymore.

(He still worries, but the last time he did it, Steve sat down with him and gave him a cup of hot cocoa and asked in a broken, worried little voice, _you know that we'd never hurt you right_ and Bucky bites down the answer _but what if I hurt you_.)

Some days, he wishes that he were the Bucky that Steve remembers, but he can't pretend, and while he knows that Steve doesn't want him to ( _don't you dare pretend nothing's wrong, you're you, what happened changed you, and I don't care, you're still my friend and nothing will change that, you are perfect just the way you are_ ) he sometimes wishes that he could do something to make Steve laugh like the old, cocky flirt that was Bucky Barnes.

But he's not, and while the others try so hard not to pressure him, he still can't help but feel that it's wrong, that he's doing something wrong and he wants so badly to be able to make it okay, but he can't because he's as much of a mess as they are, if not a million times worse.

It's easy to blend into crowds, he's had experience for a long time.

A quick word to JARVIS, and he's gone, baseball cap stuffed onto his head and a ratty sweater that could belong to just about anyone with sleeves falling just below his fingers. He's a faceless man in the crowd, hair pulled back into a low ponytail as he slips aimlessly through the streets.

He slips into _Ben & May's _on one such excursion, pulling in with a quiet breath as the little bell above the door greets him, the pipsqueak at the counter snapping at attention from where he's scribbling something into a notebook (probably homework).

"Oh, hi!" The barista greets him with a crooked, somewhat sheepish smile, quickly shoving his homework away with a flurry of paper. "Um, how may I help you today, sir?"

"No sir," He can't help but snort, "Man, kid, way to make someone feel old."

The barista turns bright red and is quick to apologize, but Bucky is equally quick to wave him off with a roll of his eyes.

"No big deal. What have you got that's nice and cheap?"

The barista lists a few options, and Bucky stares suspiciously at the well done concealer on his cheek (somehow he suspects that it's not there because of pimples), only half listening, before he airily answers that he'll go with whatever, and for the barista to choose.

"You're as bad as Tony," The barista sighs, throwing up his hands with an exhausted huff, but asks Bucky for allergies and describes a drink to him that Bucky agrees to buying.

"So, kid," He calls out as the barista turns around to make his drink. "Who's tossing you around?"

The kid _freezes_ , hand frozen over the ice dispenser, shoulders tensing and Bucky can make out the traces of very defined muscle beneath the loose shirt. "Nobody," He answers in a small voice, but it's such an obvious lie that even someone without Bucky's training would know that he's keeping some secret.

"Yeah, right," Bucky snorts as the kid turns on the ice dispenser and tries to pretend that everything's alright. "Someone at school?"

The barista laughs at that, high pitched and slightly hysterical, and mutters something under his breath like, _I wish_.

"Your parents?" Bucky continues, and the kid freezes again, this time stiff and harsh and Bucky knows, relieved, that it's not.

"No way!" The kid is quick to protest, and he slams Bucky's drink down with a shake of his head. "I can't believe you'd... Aunt May would _never_..." He breaths, slow and deliberate, and then he says quietly, "Nobody's hurting me. I don't know why you think that, but it's nothing like that. $1.75, please."

Bucky obligingly hands over the cash and gestures at his own cheek. "Then what's up with the concealer, kid?"

He flushes. "I'm really clumsy." He mumbles, and Bucky can tell that while it's the truth, it's not the reason why the concealer's there.

"Alright, kid," He makes sure to answer in a voice that lets the kid know he doesn't buy it, but he takes a long sip of his drink and then throws over his shoulder, "See you again. The drink's not half bad."

The kid beams back at him (nervous and fidgeting, but grateful for a customer and more money, he supposes), and Bucky realizes while he's halfway back to the tower that he actually meant it.


	7. Bruce

**Reply to Guest:** Thanks! Yeah, the interaction was shorter, but this fic's not about Peter. It's about all of them.

* * *

It's the third day that Bruce has spent just reading and researching inside of the Hulk-proof tank, and Tony is just about sick and absolutely _done_ with it.

"Come out," He snaps, not caring if he's being rude. "You're being stupid."

Bruce doesn't answer. He hasn't for a while, curled up in his corner, pretending there's nothing beyond the glass walls. Or maybe trying to pretend that he doesn't exist, Tony's not sure. There's a gun next to him, and a bullet that looks like it's been crushed in a Hulk's fist.

Tony hacks into the commands to open the glass and marches over to Bruce. "I'm sick of this." He snaps, falling down into a cross legged position. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"Tell that to the people in the hospital." Bruce's voice is soft, measured, almost giving off the air of being calm if it weren't for the utter self loathing hidden behind those words.

"I did." Tony answers, bold and bright and loud. "They agree."

Bruce eyes him, cold and sharp and _knowing_ , and Tony has to fight not to look at the crumpled bullet next to them.

"Whoever doesn't agree," Tony snarls, he can't help it, "Is an ignorant, stupid..." He spends a while swearing and coming up with some rather creative insults.

Bruce's mouth twitches like he might smile, but he doesn't, and he whispers quietly, "Tony, please don't stay around me."

"What, I get too annoying for you?" Tony snorts and rolls his eyes. "Too bad, I'll be bugging you a bit longer."

" _Tony_ ," Bruce's voice is tight, pleading, and Tony shakes his head.

"I know a good cafe," He says conversationally, light and somehow still brittle. "Small place, very cheap. You'd like it, I think. All cozy. The barista's a geek. He had a crush on you, though he claims that he just admires you as a scientist."

Bruce rolls his eyes at that, trying not to care but rising to the bait anyways. "You're still teasing him about it, aren't you."

It's not even a question.

That's how well he knows Tony.

Tony spreads his hands out wide, blinking innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Like hell he doesn't.

"Is this some twisted attempt to get me out?" Bruce demands, trying to sound harsh and angry but just coming out tired and small. "Because it won't work."

"Come on, Bruce," Tony coaxes him, wrapping an arm around Bruce's shoulders, grip light but firm. "Just one trip, is all. Then I'll stop bugging you."

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"I _swear_." Tony says.

"I don't believe you." Bruce says.

He goes anyways.

* * *

The cafe is a nice, cozy little place that Bruce would have liked to hide in while he was on the run, somewhere that he would hate to destroy but makes him feel safe, somehow.

The barista is a short, literal-ray-of-sunshine type of kid that immediately begs for Bruce's autograph.

"As the Hulk?" Bruce asks uncertainly, because he doesn't quite know how to feel about that.

"Uh, that, too, I suppose," He shakes his head, "But like, just you. You're one of _the_ leading scientists studying radiation! Like, you're _totally_ awesome."

Tony preens, and Bruce tries not to act too abashed. (He fails. Miserably. But A for effort?)

When that's all over and done, the teen remembers that he has to be professional and turns bright red as he apologizes profusely to Bruce and quickly rings up his order.

"Tea is good for stress," He notes and scribbles something down on a little piece of paper by the cash register. "Should I assume that you'll pick a favorite, or will you be like Tony and try everything on the menu first?"

"I'll probably just pick tea," Bruce answers, humming thoughtfully as he offers the barista a soft smile. "I like things to stay consistent."

While you're on the run, not many things can be consistent, he things wistfully to himself, before he remembers Tony's arm around his shoulders and recalls that he has a place to stay now.

(It's odd and he's not quite used to it and he still doesn't really understand _why_ but it's good and nice and gives him a warm, comfortable feeling in his chest.)

"Tosh," Tony answers as he gives the barista his order, "Consistency is so dull."

"Consistency is good for anxiety," The barista counters, a knowing smile on his lips, full of exasperation for Tony and sympathy for Bruce. "For most people, at least. You take comfort in controlling your actions."

Tony snorts, "I don't have anxiety, kid."

The barista shrugs, "I never said you did," _it goes unsaid,_ was implied.

"Getting a bit too emotionally attached, aren't you?" Tony cocks an eyebrow, and the barista turns bright red.

" _Never_ ," He swears vehemently, but Tony only laughs and is quick to reassure the kid that he's just teasing.

They banter back and forth, the barista having apparently long since given up on trying to stay professional, and Tony drawing the kid out of his shell.

It's not the Hulk-proof tank, Bruce thinks to himself, but for some odd reason, this place makes him feel safe.


	8. On Bucky

Peter doesn't quite know what to think of the man with the metal fingers.

He's observant. (A tad too observant for Peter's liking, if he's to be honest, but this is a paying customer and Peter appreciates the money.)

He's gruff, but he's kind, and Peter notices that he tries hard to make sure Peter doesn't see him as a threat which is kind of sweet, Peter thinks.

But he unnerves Peter, too, with his knowing stare and his sharp queries.

"You got strangled," He snaps one day, his flesh fingers rising to touch his own collar bones. "What the actual f***, kid?"

Peter pretends to busy himself with rearranging the pastries and making the man's order. "I don't know what you're talking about," He answers, a tired lie by this point, too used to it to panic and the man too knowing for him to put any effort into lying.

The edges of the man's lips tighten, and he looks frustrated, whether with Peter for lying or himself for not being able to do anything, Peter's not sure, and he wishes that the man didn't notice, if not for the sake of his secret, then for the sake of the man. He's too kind to be dealing with this, trying to help but not really knowing how to.

" _Kid,_ " He snaps.

" _Adult,_ " Peter mimicks, a sad attempt at deflection, but it will probably work.

The man stares at him incredulously, and Peter kind of wants to make some joke but nothing really comes to mind so they just stare at each other in silence. It's as awkward as it sounds.

"Bucky," The man finally sighs, sticking out his fleshy hand with a rumble of sound that might be a sigh.

"Peter," Peter answers easily, taking Bucky's hand and shaking it. Bucky's hand is rough and calloused, and his grip is weak, like he's worried if he puts any strength into it that he'll crush Peter's hand.

(Judging the muscles tracing the outline of his sweaters, he just might. If Peter weren't, you know, enhanced and all.)

Bucky's lips twitch into a half smile, and he asks teasingly, "Didn't your Aunt tell you not to give your name out to strangers, Peter?"

Another thing about Bucky, his uncanny memory. Peter mentions Aunt May _once_... and on their first encounter, no less... and this guys somehow still remembers that.

"I could be lying to you," Peter responds lightly, but they both know that he's telling the truth and Bucky's smile is as pale as milk.

"You couldn't lie to save your life, kid." He snorts, and Peter tries not to look abashed. (He utterly fails but hey, he tried, didn't he?)

"Maybe to save my life," Peter hums, because he has lied about Spider-man and as Spider-man. It's not his fault that he utterly fails concerning anything that doesn't immediately threaten his life. "Just not in any other situation."

"Sure, kid," Bucky snorts, and Peter makes a face at him that causes Bucky to laugh a little. "You keep telling yourself that."

"I will," Peter answers defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest. He is not pouting. Not at all. (Maybe a little.)

A small, sweet smile crosses Bucky's face. "So, your clumsiness got you strangled?"

Peter snorts, "My clumsiness gets me everywhere."

Bucky rolls his eyes as though to say, _yeah, right._ "Take care of yourself, kid." He sighs, conceding defeat for today. "Don't go and get yourself killed."

Peter thinks of a giant building on his back and water dripping down. He thinks of a falling airplane and the fire on the beach. "I won't," He swears, and tries to remember to breathe.

Bucky gives him a look that may be pitying, and he looks like he wants to say something else, but in the end he just sighs, "Alright, kid," and is out the door.

As soon as he turns the corner, Peter crouches down and closes his eyes. _Breathe, Peter._

He doesn't know what to make of the man with the metal fingers. He's kind, though, and Peter thinks he likes him. _Maybe_.

Just maybe, he thinks to himself.


	9. Daredevil

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* * *

Daredevil is lying on the counter, bleeding into their napkins.

Peter will repeat this, because seriously, this is just too insane _not_ to repeat.

 _Daredevil is lying on the counter, bleeding into their napkins._

Nope, he still sounds crazy.

He tries not to panic as he pulls out the first aid kit and starts disinfecting wounds because this is weird and insane and when he became Spider-man he had planned on this except this is happening to him as _Peter Parker_ , not Spider-man, so.

What is his life, seriously.

Foggy peeks at him between his fingers, where he's dropped his head in his hands and asks hoarsely, "Do you... do you know first aid?"

Peter bites down the answer that he does this kind of thing to himself every night, and instead just settles for a vague nod and pulls out a bullet. (A freaking _bullet_!) "How did you... how did he..." No, that doesn't really matter, does it? His voice comes out more small and soft as he asks, "They didn't follow you here, did they?"

Foggy looks around wildly, as though he could see them if he tried hard enough, and then shakes his head. "Probably not. Daredevil would be able to..." He coughs into his hand, "Um, he, uh, saved me from some muggers and..."

"And he got shot," Peter concludes, grimacing down at the body on his counter. "Ugh, getting shot sucks." At Foggy's wide eyed stare, he quickly tacks on a quick, "N-not that I've ever _been_ shot, I mean, it just _sounds_ like something that must suck, you know?"

Foggy gives him a _stare_ , disbelieving and exasperated, and then he rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs, "Kid, can I trust you to keep this..." He glances at Daredevil, purses his lips, and sighs, "...you know, hush-hush?"

"Totally!" Peter is quick to agree, waving his hand in vague gestures meant to make him out to be trustworthy but that honestly just make utterly no sense. "I can totally keep a secret!" _I've kept myself a secret this long, haven't I_?

Foggy shoots him another disbelieving look, which, really, is fair, since Peter has absolutely no chill but still. It wounds him.

Peter starts on sewing up Daredevil's wound after wiping away all the blood, fingers nimble and a bit more skilled than they should be, and Foggy watches him with a silent type of awe.

"You've done this before?" Foggy asks, a note of disgust in his tone at the thought.

Peter shrugs and bites his lips, knowing that if he speaks he'll probably give something away, but apparently his silence is enough of an answer because Foggy makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a huff, knowing and unhappy with his knowledge.

As Peter keeps sewing up the wound, Foggy looks over at Daredevil with something unmistakably fond, the same way that Aunt May looks at him when he comes home, injured and still in his Spider-man suit, something that's kind and loving and generous and guilty and a million things, but above all, concerned and completely ready to chew him out when he wakes up.

Which. Well. Foggy knows Daredevil.

Yeah. Okay. Cool.

Peter knows better than to pry, so he keeps silent and tries not to look at the way that Foggy's holding Daredevil's hand and staring at his face.

"He's going to be okay," Peter says, quietly, reaching out to grasp Foggy's hand. "So don't worry, Mr. Nelson."

"Yeah, I," Foggy's breathing is still a bit fast, but it's slowing down, "I know. I'm not worried."

It's a blatant lie, something that he hasn't even really bothered trying to cover up, so Peter just says quietly, "He's doing good."

Concerning his health or what he's doing for Hell's Kitchen, Peter doesn't say, leaving that up to Foggy to decide.

"I know," Foggy breathes, tight and cracked and a little bit relieved, "I just wish he didn't have to get hurt."

Peter closes his eyes, leans back, and thinks about the scar running from his shoulder blades down his spine. "Yeah," He agrees quietly, thinking about the weight of his web shooters, always on his wrist, and thinks about the strength that can lift buildings, and thinks about last night, bleeding onto their sofa. "I know."


	10. Peter Gets Stabbed

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* * *

Peter doesn't go in through the front door like he usually does, this time just pulling on a hoodie and some jeans before stumbling in through the window.

May, who's baking some of their fruit bars, instantly abandons her post to dash over to Peter. "What did you... _are you bleeding_... Peter, what..."

She makes a frustrated noise, then decides to give up on talking and just opts for helping him to pull off the hoodie instead.

Beneath the hoodie, Peter offers May a light crooked smile as he presses a hand against the stab wounds on his stomach. "Hey, Aunt May," he greets her weakly, voice light and teasing, "Sorry I'm late for work."

"Late for work," May snorts and grumbles something distasteful under her breath about Peter and his idiocy. "You're not working today."

Peter's forehead creases and his hands fumble about for a moment as May leaves him to get their first aid kit, and then he speaks in a slow, puzzled voice, "It _is_ Saturday, isn't it? Because I'm pretty sure I work on Saturdays." He presses a bloody hand against his forehead and asks, panicked, "Do I have a concussion?"

May rolls her eyes at Peter's theatrics and answers in a no-nonsense voice, "No, Peter, I'm fairly sure you don't have a concussion. But you've been stabbed, one, two... _stars_ , you've been stabbed three..." She swears a bit. "...times and you're still thinking about putting on your uniform and _working_?"

"I won't get blood on the uniform," Peter promises, as though _that's_ what May's worried about.

She swears, this boy will be the death of her.

" _Peter_ ," She grounds her teeth and asks all the stars above to give he strength. "You are injured and if you do not get your..." She uses some more choice words to describe him and his stab wounds. "...into bed, I will _personally_..." She goes into a few threats concerning his science books and ruining his experiments.

Peter gasps, horrified at the thought. "But _May_ ," He whines, high pitched and pouting, "If I don't work, who will?"

" _I_ will." May answers decisively, sticking out her chin stubbornly. "Got a problem with that?"

"You can't, Aunt May, you'll be too busy!" Peter protests.

"Well, this is your fault for getting yourself stabbed." May sniffs, knowing full well that it may seem unreasonable but also knowing there's no way she's going to let Peter do anything but rest with injuries like that.

"Please let me work, Aunt May?"

"You know, most kids try to _avoid_ work."

"Pleeeaaase."

"Don't you give me the puppy dog eyes, I _taught_ you the puppy dog eyes."

"Aunt Maaaay."

" _No_. You look like you're dying."

"But I'm not."

"Yeah, well, I'll just start disinfecting and..."

" _Ow!_ "

"Yeah," Haughty sniff. "That's what I thought."

Peter sighed, pulling back and sulking as he asked quietly, "Can I at least get someone to replace me?"

May rolled her eyes and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Like who?"

Peter gnaws on his lower lip. "Ned?" He asks quietly, digging out his phone and already opening his contacts list.

May purses her lips together and mutters, "We can't let him do that for free."

Peter cocks an eyebrow, "It's not for free. Aunt May, _Tony Stark_ comes to our coffeeshop, and Ned's been dying for a chance to see him. He'll be over the moon."

Which is how Ned Leeds ends up manning the counter at _Ben & Mays_.


	11. Chapter 11

**TIMELINE STUFF:** It's basically Homecoming, except without Tony. So, Peter's never been to Civil War because Civil War never happened, and therefore he never meets Tony, but Iron Man still appears at the Ferry to save Peter, but Peter leaves without Iron Man talking to him/realizing that he's there. Therefore, May and Ned still knows what's up, but Tony and Happy and the others don't.

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* * *

There are times when Ned just needs to take a step back, breathe, and think _what the hell is his life._

Where he just has to take a step back from all the crazy, stare at it, and wonder how easy it would be to run away.

This is one of those times.

"You're Tony Stark." He gapes at the customer, eyes wide and jaw dropping and _oh Star Wars_ he did _not_ expect Tony Stark to _actually_ be a customer.

"And you're not the usual kid." Tony Stark squints at him over giant sunglasses and twists his lips to the side, curious. "What, are you a newbie or something?"

"A substitute," Ned manages to squeak out, still gaping at Stark. "Peter is... um, he's, uh, sick."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your life story, kid." Stark snaps his fingers, once, twice, and points at the menu. "What's good, what's not, tell me."

"It's all good," Ned is quick to defend the cafe as he puffs up his chest. "Don't look down on us just because we're affordable."

Then he sort of thinks, _what the heck, did I just snap at Tony Stark_?

Stark doesn't take it personally, though, just sort of gives Ned an amused once over, and then agrees lightly, "Of course, kid, just teasing."

What the heck.

"What the _heck_?"

Stark just sort of grins at him, and then continues lightly, "A substitute, hm? How'd the kid get sick?"

Ned thinks of Peter, stabbed and bleeding out as he apologizes to Ned and asks him to fill in for him. "None of your business," He would really like to fanboy over Stark right now, but he's just a tad too exhausted and a bit too finished with the whole hero business for the day to come up with a proper cover story.

Stark tilts his head at Ned, as though he's a bit baffled by him, and then he offers Ned a wry smile and a light, "Ah," as though he now understands things much better.

Which would be great if Ned understood anything. But he doesn't. So he's just kind of standing her wondering what Stark _thinks_ he knows, and what he actually knows.

"So, your order?" So Ned's not exactly the best at changing subjects. Sue him.

Stark chuckles, as though he knows that Ned's derailing the conversation topic, well, actually, nah, he 100% knows, but orders anyways, "The Parisian Kiss Smoothie."

Ned thinks about May laughing as Peter turned red the first time that he told a customer the name of the drink, and resists the urge to salute mockingly. "Yessir," He says, bares his teeth in an almost smile, and goes off to do what's supposed to be Peter's job.

 _You_ so _owe me_. He thinks about telling Peter when he gets back.

 _Your job is crazy._ He thinks about waving his hands in the air and shouting.

 _I met_ the _Tony Stark_. He'd probably be really slack jawed.

But he knows he won't say any of it, because his best friend is lying on his sofa, trying not to die, and this is the least that Ned can do for him.

He hands Tony Stark his drink and asks for his autograph.


	12. Chapter 12

Peter used to think that his life was crazy.

Back when he became Spider-man? Totally crazy.

Back when Tony Stark first walked in? Totally insane.

He thought that was how awesome his life would be for the rest of it. That his life wouldn't get even more insane.

Then Trish Walker walks into the cafe and he's just.

He's done.

That's it.

His life has reached maximum insanity, has touched the sky, he's _beyond_ the sky, his life is just insane and cool and to be honest pretty awesome but yeah.

 _The_ Trish Walker walks up to him and offers him a light smile before she asks politely, "Do you have anything vegan?"

He thinks about calling Aunt May, or demanding her autograph, but he's too stunned to say anything other than an oddly chipper, "Yes, we have the..." He lists their many options, pointing out their menu with rice milk, coconut milk, almond milk, no milk at all, and when he finishes listing them he just shuts up and stays very, very still.

Maybe it's the shock, he doesn't really know, because he's pretty sure he didn't react this way when Tony came in (oh no, _what if he did_ , what if he screwed up and acted lame wait no then why would Tony still be coming that's ridiculous HA HA HA why is Peter so awkward).

She smiles at him, smooths her hair back, and orders one of their rice milk smoothies.

He hands it to her, tells her the price, she takes a sip and then _raves_ about it. "This is awesome!" She squeals, and picks up one of their little plastic bamboo toys that they like to put in their glasses for the people who order rice drinks, "Aw, this is so _cute_! Personalized little cups, _and_ it tastes good." She takes another sip and hums cheerfully, "Could I talk to the owner of this establishment, please?"

Peter is going to faint.

Just drop right here, run out of breath, and Trish Walker will call an ambulance, be freaked out and never come back.

 _Yes_ , he thinks. That is exactly what will happen.

But apparently it's not, because he smiles sweetly and answers calmly (CALMLY. WHAT. HOW IS HIS VOICE DOING THIS.), "Of course! She's right in the back, just a moment and I'll go call her."

Trish Walker smiles at him and Peter is dead.

Struck through the heart and on the ground.

May comes out and immediately greets Trish Walker with a sweet smile and a joking, "I think I'm going to faint, I'm too starstruck."

Trish Walker takes it with a good natured laugh, and then asks, "Do you mind if I do a review for your cafe in my show? I think that this place is really cute, and your smoothies aren't so bad either."

Peter squeaks, and says quickly, "I'm going to go back to the counter."

May wriggles her eyebrows and asks, "Not going to make some excuse to stay?"

Peter turns red and his mouth has apparently done too much work for the day because he doesn't say anything, just turns around stiffly walks away.

A week later, Trish Talks does a stunning review on _Ben & Mays_, which makes sense, because she's started going in every morning for a breakfast smoothie or her morning coffee.

"I'm dead without it," She tells Peter from under her baseball cap and oversized sunglasses, her attempt at a disguise. "So I look completely awful. But don't tell anyone," She winks at him, "Keep it a secret, okay?"

Peter nods and tries very hard to stay conscious.


	13. Jessica

**Warning:** Swearing. Because Jessica.

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* * *

Jessica is dragged in by a very pip Trish, who's long since became a regular.

"Nooo..." Jessica groans as she makes a half hearted attempt to pull her arm from Trish's grip. "Stooop."

"I refuse," Trish has her very best imitation of a bulldog on her face and steel in her voice, her vice grip on Jessica dragging her into the cafe. "You've been doing nothing but getting drunk for _days_ , and we are going to drag you back into the land of the living if it's the last thing I do."

Jessica flops down on the floor, just _flops_ , right there, and refuses the budge. "I'm talking to you, aren't I?" She'd say she's not whining. She'd be a liar.

"I'm the _only_ person you talk to, though." Trish points out, trying (and failing) to drag Jessica further into _Ben & May's_.

"Not true," Jessica looks so incredibly insulted that Peter could almost believe that it's Trish doing the bad thing here. Unfortunately, he's heard Trish complain.. er... talk about Jessica enough to know that it's not the case. "I talk to Malcolm."

Trish throws Jessica a _look_ , so incredibly tired and exasperated and _done_ that Peter can't help but think about Aunt May when he put the whipped cream in the cookie batter. (It tasted good, though, so all's well that ends well, right?) " _Jessica_."

Jessica mimicks the look, except she's a different kind of weary and tired and done, one that just wants to be left to self destruct, according to Trish. " _Trish_."

"Peter," Peter leans over the counter to stick out his hand. "So, you must be the Ms. Jones that Ms. Walker always talks about."

Jessica gives him a _look_ , and mutters under her breath, "You're ganging up on me. Trish has gotten reinforcements and you're going to annoy me to death." She then stares up, looks Peter dead in the eye with the face of someone who doesn't give a shit, "Fuck off, kid."

Peter remains unintimidated, having dealt with multiple death threats and some very colorful vocabulary from his villains. "I can't fuck off, Ms. Jones, you're sitting on the floor of our cafe."

Jessica rolls her eyes, stands up, and holds out her hands with a small shake of her head. "There. Now fuck off."

"Can't," Peter grins cheerfully at her, "You're still in the cafe."

"Oh..." Multiple swear words. "I'm _done_. I'm just done." She tries to throw her hands up, but Trish's grip on her arm kind of dulls the effect. "I quit! I swear, you hold me here for one more second, and I'm just going to break the counter."

"I don't know if our insurance covers super villain attacks." Peter muses, tilting his head to the side. He does, actually, he was the one who made sure they had it in the first place. Not that he's going to admit that. "So we'd have to end up suing you, which, honestly, is just more effort than it's worth."

Jessica glares at him, frosty as ice and cold as a blizzard. "Kid, if you don't shut up, _right now_..."

"You can't punch Peter, Jess." Trish rubs a hand against her temples, looking for all the world like a mother talking to her child. "He's fourteen."

"Fifteen, now," Peter tilts his head to the side, acknowledging the defense. "But still, punching me would be very mean."

Jessica snarls at him.

Peter smiles sweetly at her.

Trish is _done_.

"Our special today is the Raspberry in Paris tea." He tells her, propping his chin against the palm of his hand. "Very subtle flavoring, though, but I suspect you'd just want something that goes well with whisky. In which case, I highly recommend the Lemonberry Twist."

Jessica shoots him a disbelieving look. "You drink, kid?"

"I bet the guy who beats him up, does." Trish notes, and Peter tries very hard not to flinch at that. She leans forwards and grins at him before brushing some concealer off her cheek to reveal a dark bruise blossoming against her cheekbone. "I use the same concealer technique that you do."

Jessica gives Peter a long, measuring look, and then she sighs wearily, more of a grumble than words, "I'll take the Lemonberry Twist." She shoots Trish a dark look. "But she's treating me."

Peter tries to mimic Aunt May's shark grin, all bared teeth and flashing eyes. "My pleasure," He says sweetly, and from the look that the two girls give him, he's succeeded.

(To be honest, he never expects Jessica to come back.

Then she pulls herself in with blood on her face and takes a long drag from her bottle of beer before she tosses him a wad of cash and mutters sourly, "Same as last time. Lemonberry Twist."

He is slightly terrified. "Who did you kill?" He asks, and she just laughs, low and bitter.

Scratch that.

He's terrified.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Warning:** Swearing.

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* * *

Claire swears she's cursed.

All she wants... _all she wants_... is to go and get a nice cup of coffee.

That's it.

Literally, _it_. All she wants.

Coffee and peace. No supervillain attacks, no stupid craziness, no random vigilantes in devilish kink gear bleeding out onto her couch.

Instead she gets Captain fucking America in the line in front of her, smiling politely as she orders and the barista cheerfully tells her that their special today is the Blueberry Ice Cappuccino and Captain fucking America interjects brightly that it's his favorite.

What the actual fuck.

No. Wait. No. She can still make this work. This whole thing, this whole time, can still work. After all, it's not like HYDRA is attacking them or anything, it's fine, she's fine, it's not...

A villain bursts in through the window and points a gun at them as he yells for the barista to hand over some cash.

She fucking jinxed it.

Claire's _done_.

So, _so_ done.

Captain America's eyes flicker over to the barista, and the barista stares very, very hard at his wrists, the same look that Matt gets when he wants to help someone but knows that he can't without revealing his identity and she thinks _fuck no_.

She is done.

So Claire shoves her hand next to Captain America's shoe, where she can see the familiar bulge of a gun, and she points it at the villain then shoots his shoulder. "One fucking free day!" She shouts at him, moving over to kick the gun out of his hands and pulls her cell phone out to call 911. "That's _all_ I want! One peaceful day without all the crazy! Is that so hard to ask?"

Apparently it is, because the villain attempts to punch her and is soundly knocked out when she flips him (a move that she learned from Colleen and is quiet proud of, thank you very much. Never mind that her arm feels exhausted after doing that).

Captain America gapes at her and she almost feels proud of herself except she is just exhausted and weary and kind of furious that her nice day has been Absolutely Ruined.

The barista grins at her, bright eyes and shiny cheeks, a smile that almost makes it worth it, but nah, she'll stay bitter a little longer, and then he says cheerfully, "Hey, awesome lady who beat up the baddie, your order's on the house."

Alright. Fine. Kinda worth it if she gets to save some cash. "Alright, then," Claire makes a show of making a big sigh as she stares up at the menu, "If that's the case, then I guess I'll take... one of each."

There's a beat of silence as everyone sort of just gapes at her, then the barista bursts into laughter and tosses her a crooked smile as he cheerfully agrees, "Yeah, alright, miss..."

Claire raises an eyebrow. "A bit too old for you, aren't I?"

"No! I'm not! It's not! I mean!" The barista turns bright red and buries his face in his hands even as Captain America bursts into laughter. (Hm. Who knew their national hero had a sense of humor.) "Uugh, Mr. Rogers, stop laughing!"

"I keep telling you," Captain America rolls his eyes, "Call me Steve. And come on, it's true. She _is_ a bit old for you, and besides, Michelle is pretty..."

" _Stoooop_."

"Call me Steve."

" _Noooo_."

"Michelle and Peter, sitting in a tree..."

"I hate you."

 _Hm_ , she thinks, as the barista _actually_ gives her one of everything, an apologetic smile on his face as he says, "Sorry it took so long." Yeah, alright, so maybe it's been worth it.

(And _man_ , this cafe's stuff is _good_.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Reply to Guest:** Yep! Thank you!

* * *

Sometimes, Peter and May will just sit down on their sofa, nice and comfortable, a cup of tea and hot cocoa respectively in hand, and then May will sip her hot cocoa, stare ahead, and then say quietly, "My life is insane."

Peter will blow on his tea, watching the leaves dance about, and then agree lightly, "Tell me about it."

Which, obviously, May will take seriously and she'll rant for hours upon hours about how insane her life is, how she has Tony _cream puff_ Stark in her cafe and Captain _strawberry shortcake_ America and the millions of other crazy customers they have and then she'll just sort of peter off and look at Peter as she whispers, horrified, "And my son is a _superhero_."

Peter flushes, and draws a finger against the rim of his cup as he hesitantly attempts to correct her, "Vigilante."

May shoots him a deadpan look, like, _you're not seriously trying to argue with_ me _, are you? Me, as in queen of debate?_ and Peter concedes with a sigh as she responds flatly, "Superhero."

A small smile traces the edges of Peter's lips and he echoes, a bit faintly, as though he himself doesn't quite believe it, " _Superhero_."

"Yeah," May pinches a marshmallow between two fingers and pops it in her mouth, grinning widely at Peter, "My son is the coolest superhero ever, too."

Peter smiles shyly to himself, ducking his head and turning bright red even as he presses his head against May's shoulder and asks quietly, "You think I'm cool?"

May bumps his shoulder, gently, so that he doesn't spill his tea, and answers with a laugh, "Are you kidding? You're the lamest dork in the world."

And he'll laugh with her, because it's so true that it's almost painful, but he loves being a dork and she does too (because May may seem beautiful and model-type and sophisticated but underneath that pretty veneer is the only person who could beat Ned at Mario Kart _after_ he's hacked the game, and who can quote entire scenes from Star Wars).

"So I'm dorky," Peter corrects himself, continuing on with a light smile as he asks, "But Spider-man is cool?"

"Spider-man is the _man_ ," May agrees, bobbing her head into a nod. "Until you actually meet him."

"Hey!" Peter protests, and bumps her back, light and sweet and fondness in his laughter. "I can be totally cool."

"Until you open your mouth," May snickers, and Peter sticks his tongue out at her. Then, in a moment of seriousness, she runs her fingers through Peter's hair and says quietly, "You know that I'll always love listening to you talk, though, right, Peter?"

"Aw, _May_ ," Peter whines, batting away her fingers and pulling clumps of marshmallow goo from his hair. "Don't get all cheesy on me."

"But _Peter_!" May gasps dramatically, pulling away from him and pressing a hand against her chest, positively affronted, "I must go and reach my true calling! To be cheesy is my fate! Could you make me deny _fate_?"

"It's not fate," Peter laughs, taking another sip of his tea before setting it gently on the table. "It's you having a lame sense of granny humor."

" _Nooo_!" May put down her cup of cocoa as well and shoved her fingers under Peter's shirt to begin tickling him. "Take it back, take it back!"

"N- _hahahaha,_ stop, May, I'm dy- _hahaha_ -NEVER!"

May tickles harder, until they're both laughing so hard that they're crying and Peter ends up conceding defeat and teasing that just _maybe_ her sense of humor isn't as bad as a granny's _yet_.

May's life is insane.

But she wouldn't change it for the world.

(For a chance of Ben back, though? Ben, who _was_ her world? She doesn't know quite yet.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Warning:** Swearing.

 **Reply to Guest:** Thanks!

* * *

Peter doesn't quite remember how it happens.

He kind of recalls talking with Ned, the coffee shop mainly empty save Mr. Stark enjoying a latte with Mr. Rogers. They're scrolling through their phones, Ned through the news and Peter kind of looking over his shoulder as they make sarcastic, witty little comments at each other and the two adults desperately try to act as though they're not eavesdropping (but Mr. Stark bursts into laughter every other word they say, so it's a bit hard to hide that he's laughing at their one liners).

Then Peter makes Ned pull up a picture of a building being demolished, they click the video, and Peter sees it _crash_ , sees the rubble and the smoke fill the air and suddenly he can't quite breathe right anymore and before he knows it, he's on the ground and his heart's thumping and his head's fogging and he wonders if he's going to die as he remembers _oh, panic attack_ just like a few days ago in the boy's washroom.

Ned, already having grown used to this, immediately puts his phone out of reach as he pulls off his jacket and puts it on Peter, heavy and warm.

It's a good reminder to keep him grounded, and he distantly hears Ned's voice say calmly (he vaguely recalls the first time when Ned panicked and nearly called 911. It's odd how far they've gotten, how this has somehow become normal), "Hey, Peter, remember how we did this before? Breathe in with me, okay? _One, two, three, four_. Yeah, you're doing great, yeah, now, _out, two, three, four_."

Then Mr. Stark's voice washes in, far away and bubbly as he demands, "What the fuck is going on?"

Ned waves a hand in Mr. Stark's vague direction as he answers sharply, "He's having a panic attack, so if you're not going to help, fuck off," and Peter kind of wants to tease Ned for swearing at _the_ Tony Stark, but he's also very worried that he's going to die and his mind is swarming with irrational paranoia so it's a bit hard to.

He sort of thinks (no, he _definitely_ thinks) that Mr. Stark will just vanish after that, _poof_ , like a genie gone after doing it's job, but Mr. Stark kneels down and says quietly, "Hey, kid, you breathing alright?"

Peter thinks he might kind of shake his head, but his entire body is shaking, too, so he doesn't really know. He reaches out a hand to wrap around Ned's and Ned gives him a reassuring squeeze as he reminds him, "Hey, breathe, _in, two, three, four, out, two..._ "

Peter focuses on Ned's voice, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth of Ned's hand against his, and breathes in his scent, french toast and LEGOs and his strawberry shampoo (which Michelle always teases him for and she claims that "you just bought it because you were hungry", a claim that makes Ned blush and he never quite manages to argue with her).

It's comforting.

Then, after a few more minutes of being terrified out of his skull and forgetting how to breathe a few times, he opens his eyes and Ned offers him a pale, relieved smile. "You good?" Ned asks, soft and gentle, and Peter nods shakily before turning to Mr. Stark.

"Sorry you had to see that," He says apologetically, smiling weakly and nervously running his thumb over Ned's knuckles, grounding himself. "I'm, uh, good now."

Mr. Stark sort of gaped at him for a moment, before groaning, "The kid's apologizing. The kid is _apologizing._ Oh, Ice Cap, how do I deal?"

Mr. Rogers leaned over the counter and popped his head over Peter's head. "You don't need to apologize, Peter," he said gently, looking equally uncertain of how to proceed, but probably winging it as he went along. "There's nothing shameful about having a panic attack."

Peter turned bright red. "Right," he agreed quickly, "Of course."

This was _so_ embarrassing.

Mr. Stark sort of looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, before he asked abruptly, "Hey, kid, I've had tons of panic attacks, before, too."

Peter blinked owlishly, "You... do?"

"Yeah, well," Mr. Stark's eyes flickered up to Mr. Roger's, who's eyes had darkened considerably, and he winced. "I still have them sometimes. It's better now that Ice Cap knows..."

"I found out after you had one right in front of me!" Mr. Rogers huffed, clearly touching upon a touchy subject. "You idiot, trying to keep it a secret."

"I told you, I didn't want to burden you." Mr. Stark frowned, and Mr. Rogers scowled right back.

"And I told _you_ , you'll never be a burden."

"Well sor _ry_ for having a low self esteem!"

"You should be!"

And, panic attack forgotten, Peter couldn't help but laugh.


	17. Chapter 17

**Reply to Guest:** Thank you! Yeah, some. Bucky, for sure, since he's already suspecting, and I do adore Irondad so I think I'll have Tony find out. Thank you!

* * *

Words have never come easy to Bruce.

Words were fickle, constantly changing little things, and while he was okay with talking, he never quite got past that little lump in his throat and the voice in his mind that whispered that nobody cared enough to listen.

Peter, Bruce noticed, had a _lot_ of words.

Like... a crazy lot. It was almost insane how much words Peter could weave together, how easily he could chatter about nothing and yet everything.

There were some topics that Peter avoided.

When Bruce brought Bucky in, Bucky just raised a hand and greeted Peter with a light, "Kid," and Peter dips his head into a nod.

"Mr. Barnes," Peter replies, a shark like grin on his lips as he bares his teeth and his eyes brighten. "And Dr. Banner! You two know each other?"

The two exchange glances, raised eyebrows and downturned lips, all confusion and wonder at how the kid doesn't recognize them, then the realization hits that while the Winter Soldier and the Hulk are well known, Bucky's face remains mostly unknown and Bruce doesn't look anything like the Other Guy.

"...Yes," Bruce speaks slowly, reveling a bit in the knowledge that he's virtually unknown and unnoticed, now that he's with Bucky instead of one of the other, more well known faces. "We dorm together."

"Oh, fun!" Peter grins brightly and leans forwards to peer at Bruce, raising both eyebrows as he asks, "So, how can I rob you of your money today?"

Bucky leans forwards and returns the kid's shark grin. Peter shrinks back and scowls even as Bucky notes, "You're moving your arm kind of weird today, aren't you?" He hums thoughtfully, and cocks his head to the side. "Couldn't be sprained or anything, right, kid?"

Peter narrows his eyes, and snaps back, an obviously old argument based on the tone of his voice, "I wouldn't be at work if I sprained my wrist, now would I?"

Bucky laughs and Bruce is confused and they order all the same.

* * *

Bruce questions him about it back at the compound.

"Why would the kid's arm be broken?" He asks as he takes a sip of his tea, features automatically relaxing as the subtle taste and the warmth spreads through his body. "It'd be physically impossible to do the things he did with a broken arm."

"Unless he's a mutant," Bucky answers lightly, and takes a thoughtful sip of his own drink. "He didn't move one arm the entire time, remember? He kept it in his pocket the entire time."

Bruce thinks back to the conversation, thinks of Peter moving around to make their drinks and the way that he winced whenever he raised his arm, the way it fell heavily whenever he used it and thinks _oh_.

"So what if he's a mutant?" Bruce asks, peering curiously at Bucky. "If he wants to keep it a secret, why not let him? It's not like a secret like that harms anyone."

"But he's getting hurt," There's a frown to Bucky's words, a crease on his forehead and something as heavy as syrup in his tone. "And he's trying to cover it up."

Bruce makes a face. "You're not... you're not seriously going to investigate? Bucky, that's such a _Tony_ thing to do." There's such disapproval in his voice, but he can't help the curiosity that bleeds into it.

"I'm going to investigate." Bucky replies, honest and straightforwards, and Bruce sighs.

Of course.


	18. Chapter 18

**Reply to OnlyEscape(Guest):** Thank you! Yeah, Bucky's very overprotective about his idiots.

* * *

Natasha wakes Clint up a little after 5 in the morning to shove a hoodie in his face and grin as she says, "I found this cute new coffee shop down the street. It's got little fairy light and paintings and everything. Super cozy and super tiny."

"Perfect for a cat like you, then," Clint concludes as he blinks himself awake and examines the hoodie. He sniffs it and furrows his eyebrows as he demands, "Is this _Sam's_?"

Natasha looks very offended, "It's mine's now."

Clint rolls his eyes and pulls it on, allowing the long sleeves to fall a little over his knuckles as he rubs a hand against his chest and murmurs thoughtfully, "It smells like mint shampoo. Trying something new again?"

"There was a sale," Natasha admits sheepishly and Clint bares his teeth into an amused smile.

"You never could resist a sale," he teases her, rubbing his knuckles through her hair and quickly making his bed. "Unless you were undercover."

"What can I say?" Natasha purrs as she smiles dreamily. "I love spending other people's money."

Clint laughs at that, because, really, what can he say to that? "Don't tell me you're spending my money this time?" He asks as he flings himself through the door and holds it open for her.

She laughs at his antics and steps through it as she taps a finger against her chin and pretends to think. "We'll see," she finally says, tossing him a wink.

Clint sighs, because that's a yes. "My wallet is dying!" He is completely unashamed about lying. "You're just going to tear a hole into it that will never be filled and I'll be in debt _forever_."

Natasha taps his nose and smiles her sugar sweet, butter won't melt in _that_ mouth, smile, fake and seductive and absolutely irritating. "Aw, not _forever_." She takes on a flirty tone, and Clint rolls his eyes at her dramatics. "Just a little bit, hm?"

"For _ever._ " Clint replies flatly, and she laughs even harder at him, her acts long since having stopped working on him. "Financial suicide. Utter death. Demolition of my funds. I'll have to start _working_ again, at this rate."

She snickers at the thought, and he makes a face at her. "You'll never have to work," Natasha points out, cocking an eyebrow. "Tony has you covered."

" _Tony has me covered_ ," Clint mimics her voice mockingly. "Come _on_ , 'Tash."

Natasha just laughs at him, and, knowing that his wallet will never have any chance of surviving, Clint follows her and the promise of eternal debt.

"Why are we friends?" Clint grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his lower lip into a pout.

"Because I'm adorable!" Natasha chirps, and he wrinkles his nose.

"Try again."

"Because _you're_ adorable?"

He inclines his head. "Decent response."

"Because we're _both_ adorable, and we adorable people gotta stick together."

"That literally makes no sense."

"You know you love me."

"But _why_."

"Because you're not only insane, you're also stupid."

Clint must concede to that. "Yeah, okay. Yeah, I am."

Natasha bobs her head into a nod. "And that, my dear sir," They step into the elevator, "Is why we're friends."

They're friends because he's insane and stupid.

Yeah, makes sense.

"So, a coffee shop, hm?"

"Yeah, it's called _Ben & May's _and it seems super cute..."


	19. Chapter 19

**Reply to Guest:** Thank you! Yeah, Nat and Clint were meant to have individual chapters but that happened... Thank you!

* * *

The barista, Clint thinks, looks like he's under the minimum age requirement to work, and if that weren't alarming enough, the concealer on his cheek and the way he shifts like he's expecting to be hit _is_.

Natasha, of course, also notices, not that Clint sees any change in her demeanor, but she's _Nat_ , so she's obviously gotta be able to tell. She saunters up to the barista with a sway of her hips and Clint is mildly impressed when the barista doesn't bat an eye.

"Hey there," Natasha says in that sultry, teasing little tone that she uses to flirt with people who are way beneath her level, "Anything you recommend?"

The barista cocks his head at her and his brow furrows a bit like he doesn't understand what's going on (oh, is Clint gonna have fun with _this_ ), and then he gestures at the menu and offers Natasha the tired smile of someone who's been beaten to hell and back, and still has to work at their part time. "As you can read on our menu, we have a variety of..." He stifles a yawn, and Clint is quite impressed by how professional and subtly done it is, "...choices. Our blackboard in the front lists our specials of the day, and today's drink of the day is the Orangeo Swirl."

"What's your favorite?" Natasha asks, clearly amused by the kid, and Clint has to bite back a groan. Natasha and her weird sense of humor always somehow ends up getting him in knee high trouble.

The barista's confusion seems to multiply, and he answers lightly, "Our drinks are all top quality at _Ben & May's_."

"But what's your personal favorite?" Natasha presses, and as the barista looks away Clint notices even more the muscles he has well hidden by loose clothing. "Not talking professionally, if you were a customer, what would you get?"

"I don't have a favorite," The barista replies easily, the words sliding off his tongue like they're practiced, "And miss, please order before the man behind you gets impatient."

"Oh, it's alright," Clint is quick to say, smiling at the kid, "I'm with her."

Something akin to reassurance flickers over the kid's face, and Clint can't help but think, _he knew_ _that we were together, but he's feeling uncomfortable_ , his mind easily sliding into the familiar pattern of analyzing the subject.

"Of course you are," The kid smiles politely at him, but still seems a bit too twitchy. Natasha is endlessly amused, because she's a sadist and a creepy. Which, admittedly, isn't necessarily a _bad_ thing, but still.

 _Why, Nat._

"We'll have the Orangeo Swirl, then," Natasha seems to have enough, and smiles sweetly at the kid, who smiles back, clearly relieved to be one step closer to getting out of her presence.

"Both of you?" He speaks with the experience of someone who made the wrong assumption once, and Clint thinks with a mental wince at those days where he was just a kid working part time and had some idiot snap at him for getting their order wrong.

"Yeah," Clint agrees, and the kid smiles back sweetly.

He comes back with the drinks, relieved for them to be gone, then Natasha drops a bomb and says, "So, you planning to join the Avengers anytime soon? Tony's a big fan."

The kid smiles nervously, "As a barista?" He laughs, but there's something plastic to his tone. "No matter how rich the Avengers are, I really doubt that they'd hire someone just to make coffee for them."

Natasha just laughs, "You know what I mean," and the kid's smile _sharpens_ , nervous and twitchy but _understanding_ and Clint gets it.

"Nat _would_ appreciate another one of her kind," He agrees, and Nat shoots him a grateful (almost grateful, more fond) smile for going along with it.

The kid scowls at them, and Natasha laughs.

Later, as they're stepping back into the Avengers compound, Natasha takes a sip of her Orangeo Swirl and asks Clint thoughtfully, "Hey, wanna break into his apartment later?"

Clint is done. So, so done.

"Sounds great," he says.


	20. Christmas

Peter is the first the bring up... well... to make them _aware of_ the subject, coming home with Starbucks and blinking innocently when Tony dramatically stands up and yells, "BETRAYAL!"

Poor Peter is so startled that he trips and the Starbucks in his hand flies into the air. Peter, somehow displaying remarkable reflexes (despite having tripped midair two seconds ago) flips and manages to catch the cup with his feet.

The issue is that feet were not made for holding Starbucks cups, and so the contents of the cup spill, quite quickly, onto Peter's head.

It's a sticky, wet, mess, one that makes Peter groan, "Mr. _Stark_ , _why_."

Tony, being Tony, doesn't bother to answer because he's too busy laughing at Peter's pain. (Just for the record, Peter would like to say that Tony sucks. Well, actually...)

"You suck, Mr. Stark," Peter grumbled, flipping back up again and pulling his (now empty) cup from his feet with a smooth swing of his arms.

"You wound me, kid," Tony grins, but there's no hurt in it so Peter just sticks out his tongue and grumbles something along the lines of, "You deserve it."

Michelle, ever practical, chucks a towel at Peter's head and yells, "Yo, loser, stop dripping on the floor!"

Ned, who has been in stitches for the past minute, starts cracking up all over again.

"Thanks, Ned, for your support," Peter says dryly as he wipes his face off with the towel, "Wait, this is clean, right?"

Michelle raises an eyebrow, "Sure," she answers lightly, "If that's what you'd like to think, then yes."

"You _all_ suck," Peter declares, which, honestly speaking, is probably true.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony waves a hand flippantly, "So why Starbucks, kid? Betraying your own family business by going to that corporate leech?"

Peter stares, and answers slowly, "Mr. Stark, _you're_ a corporate leech."

"That is very much besides the point," Tony declares, which it really isn't, but this is Tony so they know that using common sense isn't practical. "Anywho, answer the question, kid."

"There's no betraying here," Peter rolls his eyes, "It just so happens that Starbucks has special Holiday drinks and cups, and we don't."

"Not a very sound business strategy of us, is it," Michelle frowns and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, "Some people get weirdly pumped up about seasonal stuff."

"It might be part of how Starbucks got so popular," Ned agrees, pressing a hand against his chin, "I mean, people are seriously obsessed with Pumpkin Spice Lattes."

" _Peter's_ obsessed with Pumpkin Spice Lattes," Michelle agrees, "And he really likes seasonal stuff. Oi, Peter, why don't we have seasonal stuff?"

Peter rubs the towel through his hair, "First of all, you don't even work here," He ignores Michelle's groan of _whatever_ , "And second of all, I don't know. I guess we just never got around to it."

"We should," Michelle rubs her hands together, "It could make us lots of money."

"We already have lots of money," Peter jerks a thumb towards Tony, "I mean, money may as well come off of trees when we have this guy as a regular."

"Do you seriously think of me that way?" Tony asks, affronted.

Peter raises his eyebrows, and rolls his eyes, "No, Mr. Stark, we also like to gawk at you because you're the only person we know that has been on the cover of a magazine."

"I'm pretty sure your Aunt modelled for Vogue once."

"Her career as a model is behind her, and that is _totally_ beside the point."

"It really isn't."

"Look, Mr. Stark, I put up with your bullshit, I think that you ought to respectfully put up with mine."

"You make a very good point."

Peter sighs, "I know. Anyways, Michelle, your idea sounds pretty good."

Michelle raises an eyebrow, "Duh. _I_ came up with it."

" _Anyways_ ," Peter clears his throat, "The idea. Let's do it."

And so starts the process of Holiday-izing _Ben & May's._

("Holiday-izing isn't a word, Peter," Ned stared.

"It is now," Peter pouted.

"It really isn't."

"IT IS NOW. SHOOSH.")

* * *

As soon as Steve walks into _Ben & May's_, he is aggressively showered with confetti.

Tony, who is already in the shop and seems fairly confetti-free, snickers, and waves. "Yo, Capsicle!" He cheers, "You should check out the peppermint tea. I've heard it's to die for."

Tony, Steve knows, set up the confetti trap. But he can't accuse him, so he just glares, groaning when Tony seems completely unaffected.

"Not that you'd know, Mr. Stark," Peter raises an eyebrow from where he's wiping down the counter, "You've been downing coffee like there's no tomorrow."

"There really isn't," Tony groans, slamming his head against the table, "If I don't get this contract looked over, I swear that Pepper's going to kill me with those six-inch heels of hers."

Steve patted Tony's shoulder sympathetically. "I thought you invited the whole team," he muses, looking around.

"They'll be coming soon," Tony shrugs and rolls his shoulders back, "But some of them were on a mission, so they'll be a bit later, s'all."

"I see," Peter clears his throat and shuffles awkwardly, "Is Ms. Romanov coming as well?"

"Why, kid?" Tony teases, "Got a crush?"

Peter's face wrinkles, " _Ew_. No. It's just that she and Mr. Barton keep coming over and trying to," he clears his throat again and shakes his head, "Anyways, they're not coming, right?"

There's such hope in his face that Tony hates to quash it. (Well, actually, no. Quashing it would be hilarious.)

"Sorry, kiddo," Steve says sympathetically, "I get it. Natasha's a bit... aggressive... and we apologize if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It's alright, Mr. Rogers," Peter sighs, tucking a hand under his chin. "Is it just going to be you four, then?"

"Nah, Bruce and Bucky are coming, too," Tony shrugged.

Peter paled, "Mr. Banner and Mr. Barnes?" He asked weakly.

"Yeah, kid. You know 'em?"

"I'm quitting!" Peter yelled, "Aunt May, can you cover?"

There was a brief sound of pots and pans banging against each other, before yell of, "No! Stop avoiding your problems!" came from the back room.

"I hate you!"

"I love you, too!"

 _Groan_. "I love you!"

"You're such a dork!"

"Thanks a lot, Aunt May!"

"No problem, sweetie!"

Peter huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I hate you," He informed Tony duly.

"Love you, too, kid."

Peter stuck out his tongue and turned back to Steve, "Anything that I can get you, Mr. Rogers?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve glances over at the menu, then at Tony, then back at the menu. "A... peppermint tea, I suppose. Is it actually good?"

Peter raises his eyebrows, "As someone who practically is a co-owner of this store, I'm offended that you feel the need to ask that question."

Steve huffs out a laugh and shoves some money towards Peter, "Alright, a peppermint tea it is."

Peter beams and Steve can't help but smile back.

The other four that had agreed to meet with Tony and Steve come in all at once, Natasha calling out sweetly, "Hey, kid," with a cheerful wave, and Peter yelling back, "I hate you!" as May scolds from the backroom, " _Peter_!"

It's all very dramatic and hilarious, even when Bruce says, "Natasha wanted to break into your apartment," and Bucky says casually, "New bruise, I see."

Peter glares at them, and they all laugh at him.

It's a mess. (A beautiful, fantastic mess.)

* * *

Jessica, for her part, hates winter. Despises it with a passion, honestly, and it's just rubbing salt into the wound that Trish is probably the most excited person in the world when it comes to winter.

"It's almost _Christmas_!" Trish gushes as they step into _Ben & May's_. The stupid shop, as though rubbing it into Jessica's face, is decked out in snowflakes and glitter and... just... Holidays galore.

It's awful.

"I hate this place," Jessica grumbles as she stomps in, not bothering to shake the snow off of her boots.

"We love you too, Ms. Jones," Peter says cheerfully from his place on the counter. The kid's practically a living emoji. "I recommend the peppermint tea."

Jessica narrows her eyes, and, for some reason, orders the peppermint tea instead of her usual.

(It's fine. It tastes just as good with beer, anyways.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Reply to soup(Guest):** Perfect timing, then! (Omigosh you're rereading already? Thankyousomuch!)  
 **Reply to Livingon(Guest):** Thanks!  
 **Reply to Guest:** Well, that's Natasha for you. Thanks!Michelle and Ned drop by, respectively stealing Peter's donut and his drink.

* * *

" _Michelle_!" Peter protested, disgusted as Michelle finished his donut off. "I was eating that!"

Michelle shrugged and licked the icing off her fingers. "And now I am," she answered lightly. "Point?"

"Is this _coffee_?" Ned demanded, scrunching his nose up as he took another sip. "Dude. _Gross_. Why are you drinking _coffee_?"

"Late night," Peter shrugged, and plucked his cup back from Ned. "Not that it does much work. Apparently coffee and my metabolism don't do that well, so I'm drinking a large."

"For shame," Michelle clicked her tongue against her teeth, "Perfect Peter Parker, going to sleep _late_? And drinking coffee? When you always lecture us about getting more sleep, too."

Peter stuck his tongue out a Michelle, "Okay, fine, I'm a hypocrite. Forgive me, oh honest and perfect MJ."

"As long as you understand," Michelle spread out her arms. "Then I have no problem with you and your hypocrisy."

Peter groaned.

"Is that _coffee_?" May waltzed in and pulled the coffee out of Peter's hands. "Peter, that stuff's not good for you." She promptly downed the rest of the coffee.

"Says _you_ ," Peter protested, "You literally just _chugged_ the coffee!"

"I'm an adult," May answered airily, "I'm allowed to completely destroy my body."

"Not exactly the best outlook on life," Michelle allowed, "But true."

"Oh, so _she_ gets to drink coffee with no judgment but if _I_ want some, you guys are all judging me?" Peter sulked, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting out his chin. "I call your bias."

"Girl power," Michelle deadpanned and fist bumped May.

"They may be sexist," Ned noted, "But at least they admit that they are."

"We're not sexist," Michelle argued, "Just ageist. Younger children should not drink coffee..." She ignored Peter's _but I'm the same age as you_ , "...and older people shouldn't either, but they understand what stupidity they're getting themselves into, at least."

"That makes me feel so much better," Peter drawled, "Especially since it gets me my coffee back."

May waved the cup in his face, "It's all yours," she answered lightly.

"It's _empty_ ," Peter moaned.

May shrugged, "Like I said," she continued innocently, "All yours."

"I'm just your trash carrier," Peter stuck out his lower lip into a pout.

"Nooo, of course not," May clasped her hands together and blinked innocently. "You're _also_ my slave to work the counter when I don't feel like it."

"I _always_ work the counter," Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly!" May answered cheerfully, "Now, I'm going to run and get some groceries for dinner tonight. Any requests?"

"Does it matter?" Peter sighed, wrinkling his nose. "You may be the best baker in town, but _everyone_ knows that you can't cook to save your life."

May scrunched her nose up and stuck out her tongue, "Just for that, I'm making eggplant casserole."

"May, I love you and you're the best cook in the world," Peter straightened his posture.

Ned raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong with eggplant casserole?"

Peter threw him an exasperated look, "First of all, _eggplant_. Second of all, May's casseroles are gluten free _and_ vegan."

"I'm sure that our _lovely_ Ned," May shot him a warning glare, "will agree that my healthy alternative tastes perfectly fine."

Ned twisted his lips to the side, eyes darting from May to Peter and back again, "Right, um... that's..." He turned to Michelle, and asked pleadingly, "Help me?"

Michelle held up her hands and raised her eyebrows, "I adore May, so I'd never say anything bad about her," May shot her a smug smile, "But I have also tasted her cooking and..." She tugged on her jacket, "Yeah, bye!"

"Wait, Michelle, that's not..."

She left the door swinging, the bell still ringing.

"There is literally nothing wrong with my eggplant casserole."

"You literally threatened to make it if I didn't stop insulting your cooking," Peter pointed out, "This should say something."

May huffed, "Well, gee, Peter, really feeling the love here."

"You know I love you," Peter pecked her on the cheek, "Go on and make your eggplant casserole, I'll support you the whole way."

The corners of May's lips quirked up into a smile, "Really?"

"Yeah, of course," Peter offered her a soft smile and then turned to Ned, "Oi, Ned, I'm going to your place for dinner, right?"

"What? Um, well..."

" _Peter..."_

 _"You know I love you!"_ Peter yelped, ducking behind Ned.

"No, stop, I did not consent to being a human shield!"

"No, you are eating at _home_ with me!"

"Please, May, mercy!"

Michelle walked back in at a most unfortunate time. "Alright," May calmed down, taking a deep breath, "Mercy. Mercy." She smiled sweetly at Ned and Michelle, "How would you two like to eat over at our place?"

"Um..."

"Well..."

May clapped her hands together cheerfully, "Sounds like a plan! I hope that you _all_ enjoy eggplant casserole."

Michelle twirled a strand of hair around a finger, "I actually _do_."

"I hate you, Michelle," Peter mumbled into Ned's shoulder.

"There, there," Michelle patted Peter, "I'll see you then. And I'll, um, bring snacks."

"Thanks," Peter muttered.

"You're welcome," Michelle flipped her hair. "I know that I'm perfect."

Peter groaned even more.


	22. Chapter 22

The day that MJ meets the Black Widow is one that Peter will curse for eternity.

It stars with MJ in the cafe curled up at the window seat, a book in hand and her hair pulled into a sloppy french braid that she had been too lazy to redo. The sun hits her at an angle that makes her look like she's glowing, and it catches Peter's attention enough that Ned needs to drag him away, muttering, "Careful, Peter, your crush is showing."

It says a lot about Peter's state that he doesn't even refute the claim. "She's reading a good book," he sighs.

"Dude," Ned squints at Peter, "You don't even _like_ reading."

They banter about Peter's lack of interest in reading for a few moments before MJ cuts in, having snuck up on them at some point, and says, "It's fine, I like him more for his brawn than his brains."

Peter gapes.

"Joking," MJ cracks a grin and ruffles Peter's hair, "I hate all of you."

Peter steadily turns the colour of a tomato, "MJ!" He squeaks.

"Peter!" MJ mimics.

"Ms. Black Widow!" Ned gasps.

MJ raises an eyebrow, "Wait, are we..."

Then the chime of a bell and in comes Black Widow, albeit with nerdy glasses and a beanie.

MJ leans back and gives her a once over, before nodding and murmuring, "Good disguise."

Black Widow, evidently, has great hearing along with the rest of her epicness and adjusts her glasses, fingers picking at her lemon yellow sweater as she answers confidently, "Of course it is. It's one of _mine_."

The corners of MJ's lips turn upwards, amused, "Playing on people's expectations. It's very clever."

A spark of interest lights Black Widow's face, and she tilts her head to the side, "You like disguises?"

"I like knowing things," MJ sounds flippant, but Peter knows her well enough to know that she wants to learn more. Her tone adopts the same one that she got last week when their school hosted a Robotics for Dummies conference, "How did you come up with yours?"

There's a short pause while the Black Widow seems the scan the menu, but Peter can tell that she's scrutinizing MJ. "Let me buy you a drink," she finally says, "And then we can talk."

Black Widow holds off on the banter with Peter, though he knows that it won't last, and the two of them whisk away to the window seat, where they get along like a house on fire.

That is to say, surprisingly well, though Peter suspects that this spells his imminent doom.

"Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling about this?" He groans, leaning forward on the counter.

"Because you have common sense," Ned shrugs, a flicker of amusement on the edge of his lips.

"Ah," Peter says.

* * *

MJ walks to school with her hair straightened and stuck in a high ponytail.

She gets one wolf whistle, and it never happens again because she goes to the person who did so and promptly gives them a lecture about feminism and the stupidity of wolf whistling.

Needless to say, the guy looked trapped between getting angry and being uncomfortably ashamed of himself.

"It's an experiment," she explains to Peter, smoothing down her black tights and readjusting her crop top. "All that I've found is that most teenage boys are hormone driven monkeys." She rolls her eyes, "No surprise there."

"You look weird," Peter shakes his head, "How long is this going to last?"

"Until it starts boring me," MJ crosses her legs and raises her chin.

"Seeing your abs is making me feel extremely self-conscious," Ned says as he tinkers with his newest robot. "I could have sworn that you were skin and bones, but no, both of my friends could probably go toe to toe with the Avengers."

MJ rolls her eyes, "I don't fight, I'm a pacifist. This is just in case someone comes after me because of Peter's," she shrugs, and Ned nods.

"Do I have to learn self-defence, too?" He asks Peter, "Because I've heard that that kind of stuff is expensive."

"It's fine," Peter reassures him, "If worst comes to worst, I'm sure that MJ will be reluctant to teach you."

"It's happy to," Ned says.

Peter raises an eyebrow.

Ned dips his head, "Point."

"Where did you get the wardrobe?" Flash asks MJ at practice, a cocky smirk on his lips.

"Black Widow," MJ answers smoothly, "The crop top electrocutes anyone who tries to grope me. Who discovered Uranium, and when?"

Nobody can tell if she's lying or not, except for Peter, who suddenly recalls seeing that crop top on a very familiar regular at his shop.

* * *

"You're enabling her," Peter tells Natasha, arms crossed over his chest. "One second she's analyzing my bad guys for me, next thing she takes over my job."

"As a cashier?" Natasha raises a smooth eyebrow. She's opted for a sporty look, baseball cap on and hair pulled into a bubble ponytail, "I hardly think that it's something to worry too much about."

"You know what I mean," Peter grounds out.

Natasha smirks, "No, I don't. Unless you plan on telling me a super incredible secret that involves you being a vigilante?"

Peter buries his face in his hands, "You're _insufferable_."

"What else is new," Natasha starts painting her nails bright red, "She start beating people up yet?"

"One person," Peter groans through his fingers, "But I doubt she'll stop there."

"In heels?"

" _Wheelies_."

Natasha blinks, "Impressive."

"You aren't helping, you know."

Natasha blows on her nails, "I think that I am. Enabling is a form of helping."

"Say goodbye to your Avengers discount."

"I never even had one."

"Aunt May gives you one."

"You think that you can get her to stop?"

"...You are a horrible, terrible person, who should never come into this shop ever again."

"Love you, too."

"I despise you."

"Yes, I think that you're adorable as well."

"Loathe you."

"What? You think I should come every day? How sweet."

Peter groans as Natasha laughs.

"Tell MJ that she should try the outfit with the ribbon next."


	23. Chapter 23

"'Sup, loser," Michelle drops in unceremoniously, hair straightened and freckles dusting her cheeks. Her oversized Baymax sweater and magenta tights make Peter groan even as she slips over the counter, high heels scraping against the counter.

"MJ," Peter dusts down his apron and frowns at her. "What's the experiment this time?"

Michelle smirks at him and pulls a beanie over her hair, "Can't you tell?"

Peter pales in horror, "You're not..."

"Oh, yeah," Michelle readjusts the round frames on the bridge of her nose and strikes a dramatic pose. "I'm a hipster."

Peter pulls back, hand over his chest, dramatically falling back, " _Betrayal!"_ He shouts, "To conform to the coolest society in the universe, how dare you stop being a loser!"

Michelle laughs a bit but quickly schools her face back to sobriety, "I think that you've forgotten this," She raises an eyebrow, "But I never _was_ a loser."

"Ah, indeed," Peter nods solemnly, "How could I forget that you only graced us with your presence out of the kindness of your heart. And, of course, being captain of the decathlon team is completely something that cool people do. And going on Star Wars marathons was only..."

"Shut up," Michelle elbows Peter and he half chokes half laughs. She ducks her head down to hide a wide smile on her lips, but it's too late, it's there, and Peter's seen it.

"You're _smiling_ ," He sing-songs, and she jabs him in the side of the stomach, causing him to double over in laughter.

"I'm leaving," Michelle huffs. It's an empty threat, and they both know it.

"Yeah, yeah," Peter raises an eyebrow, "Are you here to help open up?"

"I'm here to be the first customer in line for today's coffee," Michelle answers even as she pulls her hair into a ponytail and magically shoves it all under the beanie.

"I see," Peter can't hold back a broad grin as Michelle takes off the sweater (revealing an appropriately angsty but chic shirt underneath to go with her hipster disguise) and puts on an apron. "Because everyone knows that people can't drink coffee without aprons."

"You're lucky that I like you," Michelle sniffs, and Peter is thankful that Ned isn't there, because he has the dopiest grin on his face.

"Mm," he says, and Michelle kicks him in the shin.

* * *

Steve arrives with a sketchbook under his arm and a watercolour set on his fingers. "Peter," he inclines his head and his eyes flicker to Michelle, "And... Michelle?"

"Call me MJ," Michelle sticks out a hand, feather-light fingers as she pulls off her beanie, hair sent scattering down her back, bumbling over shoulders and ears.

Steve shakes it, an interested smile on his lips, "The cafe's resident artist, right?"

"Yeah," Michelle grins, lopsided, "And you must be... hm, America?"

"Steve."

It's a little game that they play every time, acting as though they've just met and gone through their little motions before breaking into the real conversation. Peter will never understand it, but it amuses them well enough so he leaves them to it.

"New sketchbook?" Michelle breaks form to tilt her head at the sketchbook under Steve's arm, and he grins, holding it up.

"They sold it at the dollar store for only $4. Practically a steal."

Michelle hums approvingly and holds out a hand to inspect it. Steve hands it over and she flips through it for a few seconds, browned pages that are rough to the touch and nods. "Nice."

Steve beams, "I know."

"So," May breaks in to snap her fingers in Steve's face, "are you going to buy something or what? My customers are waiting."

"It's fine!" The man behind Steve exclaims, turning bright red. "I mean, uh, Captain America, sir."

Steve smiles awkwardly as Michelle's face turns to the smug smirk of the cat who ate the canary. "You know, you can have his autograph if you buy more than $50 in goods. For the next ten minutes, limited edition."

Steve starts, "Wait, but..."

"I'll take one of everything!" Someone in the line shouts, and suddenly everyone in line surges forward, eager to buy $50 worth of goods before ten minutes is over.

And Peter... well... he appreciates it. But.

"One at a time, please," he says weakly as he's bombarded by hands in his face and shouting for orders.


End file.
